


names

by s4linger



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s4linger/pseuds/s4linger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who needs a diamond ring when I have a trail of ruby marks across my skin and swollen lips to tell everyone I’m yours?"<br/>a collection of word prompt drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	names

**ring**

The things she does to him—Jesus—without even trying. He’s seen her use every curve of her alabaster body to get the advantage on any man, and he had been determined never to fall for those kinds of tricks.

But she never used them on him, and _those kinds of tricks_ weren’t what got him. It was when she was comfortable being around him that made his whole body stiffen like the string of his bow. Like when she walked from the bathroom door of her suite to the dresser in nothing but a towel and wet tangled hair that took him off guard. No matter how little she thought of the occurrence. It was these tiny gestures from her; they each showed she trusted him completely.

Something about that vulnerability, that honesty from Nat that was so rarely seen by anyone, made Clint want to encircle her waist and press her against him. Whisper in her ear and take the weight of the world off her shoulders.

He didn’t. Instead, he was left with frozen muscles and a ringing in his ears similar to the aftershock of a bomb going off within 20 feet of him.

“Clint? Are you even paying attention?” She repeated his name and her eyes narrowed in on him. “Is something wrong?”

He had the urge to comb her damp hair out with his fingers, but instead he swallowed and gave a small shake of his head, “Fine, just thinking about dinner.”

She rolled her eyes, “Men.”

-

-

-

**tomb**

They’re huddled in a dirty room of an abandoned shack, and Clint had done his best to stitch the deepest of her wounds, but they’re still bleeding through the bandages periodically and all she has is a quarter of a bottle of vodka left that’s she’s sucking down to try and forget the pain.

“Tasha, they’ll be coming for us by daybreak okay? We’ve just got to hold it together till then,” He tries to reassure her. She gives him a glassy eyed look, but she knows tonight is not the night she will die.

It will not be from some pathetic shrapnel wounds in Syria. Not with a disgusting imitation of vodka in her hands and Clint shaking and worrying over her like that. Another bomb goes off 326 yards away, and she hears more civilian screams as she imagines the rubble toppling over them and burying them.

This place will not be her tomb.

-

-

-

**nightmare**

It’s her worst nightmare, which seems a bit silly considering the line of work she’s in and this is supposed to be for her own safety.

But SHIELD has her strapped down in an infirmary bed, hooked up to three monitors to make sure all the poison leaves her system. It reminds her too much of injections they used to give her as a child.

They would bring about the false memories and the crippling pain—they ensured her loyalty with carefully created mental and physical punishment in order to make her the perfect soldier.

They had made her afraid of everyone, broke her, and left her with a crippling fear of hospitals.

And she could still hear Clint barking at the doctors and scientists from the other side of the door and the glass window she couldn’t see through, so she swallowed the obvious signs of her instability and fear and went to the deep recesses of her mind to maintain her control.

She had to have control.

Clint shut the door behind him quietly, but his face looked like the storm’s that signaled Thor’s appearances. “Tasha,” He said tenderly, “they’re going to make sure you’re perfectly clear of all of it before they let you out.”

“Are these really necessary?” She tugged on the straps holding her wrists down, and tried to smirk in an attempt to comfort her partner.

“We all know they couldn’t get you to stay without them,” He grimaced and turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I promise I’ll stay here with you until they let you go,” He said when he had turned back around, and this time his face was composed and determined. “I promise I won’t leave you.”

She whispered, “Just don’t let me fall asleep.”

-

-

-

**wings**

“Clint, we have a meeting and—” She stopped in her tracks at the doorway to his bedroom.

He froze and glanced up at her with a weak, apologetic smile—like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What…is…that?

A tiny chirp was her answer as the bird ruffled its feathers in objection to her intrusion. Immediately she noticed the careful bandaging around its miniscule wing and sighed.

“You know Tony is going to kill you if they keep shitting on his car,” She said before turning on my heel.

-

-

-

**red**

Everything is red: the fire around them, her hair, the blood matted in it. He’s starting to slip in an out of consciousness.

“ _Clint_ , dammit!” She screamed at him as she heaved him to the cover of an alley. But he’s only human, and even if he could shoot, he wouldn’t know where. Everything was red.

“Hey, look at me, look at _me_ ,” She cursed and snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. His head rolled loosely on his neck before drooping to the side. Normally, his heavy lidded eyes made her heart race, but this was different. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” She said before pulling a gun from her thigh holster and readying herself to protect him.

-

-

-

**names**

            She was Natalia Romanova as a child in Russia.

            She was Natasha Romanoff as an adult—her own identity.

            She was Black Widow to SHIELD and her enemies.

            She was Nat to her partner in casual conversation.

            She was Tasha to her lover in moments of tenderness.

           

Each time she sees her name scrawled in Clint’s handwriting she smiles instinctively. He’ll pen quick notes onto a pad of paper they have attached to the front of the refrigerator about him being down in target practice for the rest of the day, testing new weapons Tony has designed, or what he wants for dinner. Something about the way it looks so quick and even—all caps—makes the corner of her mouth turn up in what any of the other Avengers would consider particularly rare. When she notices Bruce staring at her as she smiles at the small yellow paper, she scowls and rips the sheet off the fridge before stalking away like it never happened.

It’s not nearly as enjoyable as hearing her name being the first word he says of the day. The way he huskily calls out to her when she leaves the bed to get ready for an early workout. She tells him she’ll be back in an hour and watches from the doorway as he rolls over to huddle at her side of the bed, feeling the warmth from her body heat still clinging to the sheets.

These moments reassure Natasha that her feelings aren’t unrequited. She’s never heard anything more beautiful than the way he says her name. Not an authentic Italian opera, the laughter of a child, or Fury giving them the day off.

Her heart is string attached to the way he says her name and it sounds like fireworks exploding over parks on the fourth of July.

-

-

-

**diamond**

Who needs a diamond ring when I have a trail of ruby marks across my skin and swollen lips to tell everyone I’m yours?


End file.
